Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear, Thou lily-livered boy.
There are no secrets.' The thing smiled, showing a row of even, childlike teeth. 'None worth keeping. Only the ones you hide from yourself, which are the most damaging and hurtful of all. Truth is truth, and lie is lie. Tell yourself one's the other ...
Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not.
I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more, is none
Ela teria de morrer, mais cedo ou mais tarde. Morta. Mais tarde haveria um tempo para essa palavra. Amanhã, e amanhã, e ainda outro amanhã arrastam-se nessa passada trivial do dia para a noite, da noite para o dia, até a última sílaba do regist...
The sleeping and the dead are but as pictures. Lady Macbeth
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.
A nation's not a child, for God's sake. ... It's like a wild horse you tame by breaking it. Or a fiery woman you slap till she sees sense and warms your bed.
...the antidote to death was and always would be the heat and fury of life itself.
Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done.
The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love.
The expedition of my violent love outrun the pauser, reason.
Nought’s had, all’s spent, where our desire is got without content.
He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.
We spent today sending men to hell. What's more natural than to pass the night dreaming of procreating a few more to take their place?
And nothing is, but what is not.
